


Stars

by flightinflame



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Rooftops, Voice in his ear, starlight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightinflame/pseuds/flightinflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint waits on a rooftop during a mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShadowHaloedAngel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowHaloedAngel/gifts).



> Short fluff. There are mentions of violence in the context of a mission, but nothing graphic - if you feel more warnings are needed, please let me know and I'll add them.

Clint's breath fogged the air in front of him, and he drew his arms closer around himself. The rooftop he perched on glittered with the sudden shine of frost, and he could no longer feel his fingertips. Realising that, he started to flex and bend his fingers, carefully, until the blood flow was fully restored. He was no use to the rest of them if he froze up here. Before him was a courtyard, lit by floodlights, with guards at each edge. They had no idea he was here. They were talking amongst themselves, joking about something. He listened, but he wasn't interested. He continued to stretch his fingers, and wait for the signal.

Other than the movements of his fingertips, he was still, the chill that penetrated through his body armour not enough to make him shiver. He needed to be still, a gargoyle on the rooftop. He would wait, for however many hours it took. Because he would be needed, and because he was there to defend those on the ground.

It wasn't the Avengers today, no mad geniuses or aliens from outer space. Just a SHIELD mission, a drugs trafficking gang that had a sideline running in people - or maybe it was a people trafficking gang with a sideline in drugs. He hadn't been particularly interested in that bit of the mission briefing - he'd paid enough attention, but that was all. He knew there could be hostages, knew the layout of this building and all those around it. He knew where his team would be, what the pattern of the targets had been for the last week. What he didn't know was what they had done. They were bad guys, and that was all he needed to know.

The hours stretched on, and he stayed painfully still as snowflakes slowly drifted through the air, landing on his armour, settling there, as his breath continued to escape him like smoke.

The silence was the worst. Normally, on missions like this, he'd be talking the whole time, singing on comms and driving his colleagues insane. He would have Coulson's voice in his ear, telling him to keep it down, the amusement audible. But tonight the air was too still, too cold. Any sound would carry to the targets below.

He kept an eye on them, feeling the comm unused in his ear. He wanted to talk, but he knew that this demanded silence, and so silence he gave it. The stillness was something he was used to, but the quiet was alien and he hated it with every fibre of his being. There wasn’t even the hourly check to ensure no one had fallen asleep or been found.

Finally, after far too long, something happened. The target came into view, dragging a young girl with him, as protection from the SHIELD agents that were storming the compound. He had a gun pressed to her head, and she was sobbing. Even at this distance, Clint could hear her terrified breathing, the way she was pleading quietly to be saved.

He drew an arrow, and waited, sight fixed on the man holding her.  
"Take the shot Barton."  
At Coulson's command, he let the arrow go, and it slammed into the man's throat. Normally, he would have made it a non-kill shot, but there was a girl's life in danger and he wasn't going to let her die. Fury could yell at him about that later.

"Try and leave some of them alive." Coulson sounded amused. The lack of correction made Clint think that Coulson agreed with his action.  
"Sorry sir." Clint said in a way that made it quite clear he wasn't sorry in the least. Coulson didn't seem to mind.

There were a few more shots, and then it was over. The agents on the ground handled most of it, and he was settling back on the rooftop.  
"We’re done. You okay up there Barton?" Coulson's voice in his ear, over a private channel, was reassuring after so long. He stretched, looking up at the sky, feeling his body protest at the sudden return of circulation.

The sky was filled with stars, a sign of how chilled the night was. He always wanted to look, but when he was on a mission he was too focussed for that.  
"Just a little cold."  
"I told you you needed another jacket." Coulson sounded almost protective, and Clint found himself smiling at the fact Coulson would worry about things like that. How they could face death almost every day and he’d still worry about him catching a chill. He always took such care of him.

"It's alright. Do I need to come down?"  
"Probably another fifteen minutes before cleanup is finished." Coulson supplied, and Clint relaxed, making his way to the edge of the roof and sitting there, his legs dangling down into space, his face upturned to look at the stars.

"Be careful there." Phil told him, and Clint heard the words through the earpiece and the air. He looked down to see the agent standing in the courtyard, looking up at him.  
"I'm being careful." Clint looked back up, gasping as a meteorite split the sky in two, his mind filling with sudden hopes for his friends' safety. He was probably too old to wish on stars. But he had something to wish for now.

"You okay down there Phil?" He called, not bothering with the comms. The man rolled his eyes then turned and walked away, but Clint was still smiling in his victory, knowing he had done well and taking the chance to relax.

He didn't tense when he heard the door to the rooftop opening, and steady footsteps coming to sit beside him. He knew who it was that was there, and he closed his eyes, resting back against Phil once he was close.  
"It's beautiful."  
"It is..." Phil's fingers ruffled his hair, gentle, soothing. Clint wondered if he was cold in the suit. It seemed like it would be rude to ask. They stayed in silence for a few moments, and then Phil's voice rang out through the air in rich baritone.  
"Oh Holy Night, the stars are brightly shining..."

Clint opened his eyes and grinned up at him, then settled back into place to listen.


End file.
